


daddy issues.

by scrapnotez



Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Angst, Anxiety, Crying, Depression, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Family Issues, Fluff and Angst, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Physical Abuse, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Harm, Suicidal Thoughts, it’s me projecting for 7k words, sorry woosan ily?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-23
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-14 06:16:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29663016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scrapnotez/pseuds/scrapnotez
Summary: one day it’ll get better they say.and yet, it still feels so far.i hope that day’ll come soon enough for me to see it.Two suffering people who meet each other at their most vulnerable times. It feels so nice, yet they never feel at ease.(TL;DR San and Wooyoung are breaking apart and it’s hard to tell whether they’re getting any better or worse.)
Relationships: Choi San/Jung Wooyoung
Kudos: 9





	daddy issues.

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger warnings for:  
> -self harm  
> -suicidal ideation  
> -abuse  
> -unhealthy coping
> 
> Please do not read if you get triggered by ANYTHING that is related to the topics above. I don’t want to hurt anyone. This story is supposed to be a way to cope. Stay safe please.
> 
> (also the title is just because I was listening to that song while writing. some lyrics inspired this story!)

It’s after school, time to rest, time to relax, but all Wooyoung can hear is the endless words spilling out of his mother’s mouth. He doesn’t really listen to it, staring into nothing. 

_Nothing_.

That was what he was.

His mother’s voice hardly registers into his mind, blurring into endless unorganized excel spreadsheets that have taken over him, like intrusive vines that climbed all over his brain. Wooyoung barely thinks after his mother _finally_ stops talking. His brain is on autopilot and it takes less than a second before his shaky hands grasp on the tattered book bag he’s used for years, running out of his room and out the door of such an empty house. 

All that’s left is the last thing Wooyoung hears that leaves his mother’s mouth. _Jung Wooyoung, come back here before you regret it._ He thinks it’s fine.

_Regret._

He wasn’t scared of anything to regret it, slamming the door behind him, hearing the familiar click. The click that shut him out, terrifying but comforting. _Regret. What even is that?_

Wooyoung walks mindlessly through the neighborhood, continuous static in his head, replaying as if it were a broken record. The record always seemed to be there with him, a companion that was a constant reminder of the numbing sensation in his brain. He snaps out of his trance when he feels his arm muscle ache, realizing how his book bag was getting dragged on the ground. 

He shakes off the dirt and swings it over his shoulder. A familiar sound of metals rattling against each other remind him of his cycle. A cycle of constant pain, physically, mentally, socially, _anything._ It was something he couldn’t see ever leaving him, all too familiar but all too foreign at the same time.

His body drags him to the park, empty and quiet. It’s old and dingy, but the wood chips in the ground had been replaced with a firm foam layer, a bright yellow. Wooyoung couldn’t really see the highlighter esque color in the midst of the night, falling onto the ground and taking a deep breath. 

He lays flat, arms and legs spread as he looks up into the night sky, not filled with stars like how the movies showed. Wooyoung doesn’t have any thoughts, it’s quiet around him and inside of him, and it’s tranquil enough for him to forget everything and focus on the slight wind that was able to be heard. 

_One gust of wind. Two gusts of wind._

Wooyoung listens to the pattern and closes his eyes. He wanted to savor the feeling of feeling nothing, the good type of nothing. Not the type of nothing that makes you want to disappear but the type that makes you feel free.

But it doesn’t last long. Quietness is always shattered.

His hands itch to touch the metal inside his bag once again, his nails raking against his wrist. _I can do it._ Wooyoung knew it was possible. He knew that he could stay away from what was so painful but so liberating for him. But it was difficult to pinpoint what was so addicting. 

The push and pull of slicing his skin open, how it made him feel something, but once that something left, he gets swallowed whole by a friend named _guilt._ Guilt almost never left, a lurking shadow who followed along with Wooyoung’s every move.

The boy pushes himself up from the ground, his shaky arms pulling at the chain connecting swings to the overhead pole. The swings rattle as he sits down in one, using a leg to move back and forth, back and forth. It was soothing, the opposite of what he will feel once he hurts himself once more.

Wooyoung could only laugh weakly, pulling open his bag and reaching for a metal tin, shaking it around to hear it rattle. He pops the lid open and stares at the couple of blades that rest inside. 

_Duller, sharper, shallow, deep._

It was a random pick from the pile, the blade with an edge to hold and an edge that’ll make you bleed even with the most little of pressure. Wooyoung had stolen it from the art room after feeling it in his hand while working with clay. It was still wrapped in its paper, fresh and unused. He’ll change that right now.

Wooyoung pushes his sleeves up, glancing at the dried up blood that swirled around his arm, a maroon color. He didn’t love the sensation of cutting his wrist, it didn’t bleed as easily, it never went as deep as he wanted, but it was enough for now. Until he can do anything else.

He slides the blade between his fingers, spinning it, but Wooyoung’s blank. Once he does it, he’ll feel something, something to bring him back.

Wooyoung’s hands are trembling, sliding the blade lightly over a clean patch of skin. It burns, much more than he’d thought it’d feel, but it’s _good. More._

The first cut of the day always scares, but once it’s over, nothing holds you back. The boy notices the warm drops of tears down his cheeks and it’s _amazing_. He’s feeling everything but nothing. 

_There’s nothing to regret._

It’s in his mind as he hastily slides the blade against his wrist, pressing down and dragging with each incision. It’s rushed and messy, his blood migrating on his fingers and clothes, a drop on his uniform. Wooyoung doesn’t know why but he’s crying and laughing, rubbing away at his clothes.

_I’m doomed!_

The slashes aren’t organized, horizontal lines, vertical lines, and he just wants to press harder, see what happens if he hits some vital bloodstream. Would he die in the middle of the park alone? He didn’t mind the thought. The blade presses against his skin once more.

“Stop it.”

_Huh?_

“Did you hear me or?”

Wooyoung relaxes both his arms, tilting his head upwards. His eyes glance at the boy’s uniform, it’s the same as his, a familiar white and navy collared shirt. The surprise makes him forget about what’s in his hands, what’s _on_ his hands.

“Oh fuck. Sorry.” is what Wooyoung says, wiping the blade against his blade pants and letting it make a noise when it’s dropped back into its tin. 

The boy walks close, reaching behind to pull out a bottle of water. He crouches down and meets Wooyoung’s eyes. 

_He’s pretty._

The water bottle cracks open and Wooyoung feels his arm get doused in water, rinsing his blood into the ground. “Don’t have any bandages on me. You’re gonna have to go commando with these guys.” the boy groans, blowing puffs of air out of his mouth to dry off the remaining droplets of water. 

“Why? Why are you doing this?” Wooyoung chokes out, his body tensing from the pangs of burning he feels. Most of the bleeding had stopped and the boy stood up, joining Wooyoung on the second swing beside him, lifting his feet off the ground. 

“Erm. I don’t think you deserve it. You know? No need to hurt yourself. It’s dumb.” he mumbles. Wooyoung sighs, swinging lightly. 

They don’t say anything for a bit as the squeak of the swing’s chains keep sounding. Once they both stayed still, the boy opened his mouth. 

“I’m San. Obviously go to the same school. You’re probably on a different team. I don’t think I’ve seen you before.” _San_ says. Wooyoung observes a bit and San’s hair is messy and overgrown, a true natural black.

The corners of San’s lips are bruised and bleeding, his eyes radiating a tired energy. 

“Why do you think it’s dumb? Hurting yourself?” Wooyoung asks, meeting his eyes. He’s startled, and his swinging gently comes to a halt. The last thing wooyoung expects is to see him roll up his sleeves. His arms are _covered_ from top to bottom in thick and thin scars, a few bandages wrapped around his upper arm. 

“Cause I know that it does nothing. Yet I still do it. We’re idiots.” San says, staring at his hands and balling them into tight fists. The boy forces out a laugh, one that’s all too familiar to Wooyoung. 

Wooyoung’s stomach is flipping around in circles, a certain anxious feeling that brews up. It’s unsettling as he tries to make it go away, deep breaths in and out. He truly laughs, throwing his head back and wiping his previous tears away.

“You’re a fucking hypocrite.” 

San scoffs, looking down and kicking a rock on the ground. It skips away, settling down once it hits the base of a tree. 

“Yeah.” he says shakily. “I am. What’s your name, mystery student?” 

  
  
  


“Jung Wooyoung.”

  
  


“Pretty name.”

  
  


“Thanks I guess.”

  
  
  


It’s silent again and Wooyoung knows he shouldn’t barge into a stranger’s business, he shouldn’t ask, _he shouldn’t have asked._

“You’re lips—— they’re bleeding. What happened?” 

The question slips too easily, the curiosity biting at Wooyoung even though he knew he always asked for too much, always opening his mouth to say something when he shouldn’t have.

San has his mouth open but nothing comes out, only a few breaths as if he wants to say something but not allowing him to. “Fuck— don’t answer I know I asked too much I’m sorry.” 

Wooyoung wants to run and pretend he never ever spoke to San at all. That he never found someone who was willing to hold a conversation with him in the middle of the night in the freezing cold.

“My lips are fine Wooyoung. Although it’s been a while since they’ve looked like this.”

San’s voice is light and sweet, a contrast from what Wooyoung was registering in his head. It’s too obvious and even if he was overwhelmed by the scars all over the boy, it’s not like the bruises were easy to ignore when they were so loud. They were taking over in deep splotches over San’s skin. 

Everything was taking over San. And Wooyoung felt unwell from the images in his head.

“Problems at home?” 

It’s a simple question that Wooyoung asks, the second question in the span of a couple of minutes. It could be answered with a simple _‘yes’_ or _‘no’_ and that’s all he needed to confirm whether his spiraling thoughts were telling the truth. 

“Yeah. Yeah.” 

The first affirmation was lighthearted, as a puff of air left San’s mouth, but the second was coming from deep inside his stomach, filled with hidden anger, disgust, and hopelessness. Wooyoung knows his words would render useless in the end but he still says them just in case.

“I’m sorry.”

San just nods, smiling weakly and telling the other _I’m fine! Get rid of the ugly expression dude._

It’s a fresh change of pace although it was easily fake. Wooyoung fumbles to catch something shaped like a rectangular prism that’s thrown at him. Saltine crackers.

“Your stomach’s growling. Get some of these in before you ruin your insides. You have to save those at least.” San laughs, tearing a pack of crackers open for himself as one settles inside his mouth, a gentle crunch.

Wooyoung could only get reminded of the times that he would get sick, hours of laying in bed while unable to indulge in true human food, the saltine crackers becoming his best friend. Damn his weak immune system.

But in the middle of the night with someone new, someone who’s equally as hurt as you, and someone who’s so bright compared to you, it’s hard not to enjoy the stale crackers inside your mouth. Wooyoung cracks a small smile, and it’s genuine for once.

  
  


*

The hard foam ground wasn’t the most comfortable to sleep on but it did the job well enough. Wooyoung’s leg kicks something and his eyes peel open forcefully to see the body sleeping peacefully next to him.

_San._

San’s face is towards his and he could see his pretty features that were overshadowed by his badly taken care of hair, along with flaky blood that settled at the cracks of his lips.

The kick of Wooyoung’s leg jostles him awake, his eyes fluttering open. “Good morning…” San greets, his eyes closing again as he stretches. “God my fucking back.” he groans, cracking it. His eyes widen at the loud noise, shooting a nervous glance at Wooyoung before laughing it off. 

Wooyoung opens his mouth and San stops him before he could say anything, standing up.

“I’m fine.” San gulps, a few coughs here and there. He pulls his phone out of his pocket, and the screen is shattered like hell, barely readable. “Um. It’s 7:42. Are you— gonna go to class?” 

The other rolls around before jumping up from the ground. His neck is killing him, and Wooyoung realizes there’s probably a reason why humans sleep with pillows. 

“Yeah. Can't really afford to miss any classes during exam week. It’s the least I could do.” 

The last part is barely audible.

  
  
  


Their eyes are failing them, as they slowly tread through the empty neighborhood street, and Wooyoung feels like he can fall asleep on the spot, counting his steps in his head to prevent it from _actually_ happening. San’s hands are shoved inside the pockets of his jacket and his lips are shut. His eyes look different, a bit more empty, blankly staring forward, no smile, nothing.

Wooyoung dislikes the expression, it’s nothing like what he saw the night before. “You okay?” It’s another fucking _dumb_ question but it snaps San out of his head, his eyes opening up and looking at the other, grinning.

“Yeah. Okay… I’m fine.” San hums. 

Like hell Wooyoung would believe that. He could tell a lie apart from a truth from a mile away, especially when he told more than he could ever count. It gnaws away at his chest, the solemn tone of San’s words. He wanted the bright voice from before.

But that’d be selfish of him. 

There’s other student loitering outside of the school, some alone, some with crowds of people around them. It’s surprisingly quiet but Wooyoung suspects that almost every single person was tired and useless, just like him. 

San gulps water down and turns around to Wooyoung, putting a hand out. The other tilts his head as to why and San groans, flailing his hands.

“Your phone. I wanna put my number in it. We don’t have classes together I— just … I figured this would be easier, it’s fine if you don’t want to.” 

Wooyoung chuckles at the shy nature of the other, pulling his phone out of the side pocket of his bag and handing it over without hesitation. San quickly types in his number and hands it back.

“Let’s meet here? After school?” San says, avoiding the other’s eyes. It’s an unusual feeling of interacting with someone after so long of being alone everyday, and Wooyoung could say the same.

“Of course. After class.”

  
  
  
  


The classes are breezy, and Wooyoung quite enjoys art history. It’s at least interesting hearing about random french artists who had a painting sell for million rather than disgusting algebra. It made his head hurt. 

English was a free ball, no work and it felt like a miracle. Maybe not really but it was better than hearing the same voice talking for over an hour. 

Wooyoung stares out the window and his eyes are focused on a patch of clouds, seeing how they actually moved quicker than he thought. The clouds are drifting away as quick as he is and slowly, the classroom noises are drowned out by his own head.

It’s a bit hard to ignore the giddy feeling inside of him that’s looking forward to spending the afternoon with someone else. It’s another excuse to not go back home for a couple of hours before he eventually needs to face the demons inside of there.

He gets startled by how fast the day goes, not that he’s complaining, picking up his bag and running down the stairs. San’s not by the gate yet so he leans against the wall and waits, tapping his foot on the ground. Wooyoung’s eyes glance around for a boy with mop like hair, and it’s easy to tell him apart from the other, his cheekbones distinct within the crowd. 

“Hey.” San greets, jogging over and waving. Wooyoung waves back, pushing off the wall and standing straight. “How was algebra for you Mr. ‘I can’t afford to miss class’?” San teases. It’s cute and mischievous, which Wooyoung enjoys a lot. It’s bright and breezy, makes him feel like he’s floating on those clouds.

“Fuck— I don’t think I listened to any of the classes. Art was fine. Some paintings got sold for millions.” Wooyoung mumbles, counting on his fingers the digits and he hears a scoff.

“Nerd. But I enjoy it.” San replies. 

It takes only a couple of steps out of the gate before Wooyoung sees a woman taking strides as she walks up to them. He doesn’t expect much, maybe an ask for directions, something different.

_Six, seven, eight—_

  
  


**_Slap._ **

  
  


Wooyoung jumps at the loud strike against San’s face. San’s eyes widen, his mouth open as he shakily breaths in. _What the fuck._

“Where were you?” the woman demands, and San holds his cheek in his palms expressionless, quiet, motionless. “Choi San I asked a question and you’re supposed to fucking answer—!.” the woman grits. 

It’s quiet, not a single word leaving San’s mouth, his eyes blank, staring at nowhere in particular. Wooyoung’s unable to move a single limb, his jaw squeezed as tightly as it could possibly go, creating a soreness that slowly spread through his entire body.

**_Say something._ **

“Fucking useless!” she yells and other students hear it, avoiding whatever altercation was happening. Grasping San by his hair, she drags him into her car and it makes Wooyoung choke on his own spit. San smiles at him, tears staining his cheeks, and the last thing he sees is San waving through the window. 

His gut is trying to suppress the urge to throw up whatever he ate for lunch, dropping to the ground. Wooyoung’s legs give out and he sits there. It’s way worse than he thought, the pure horror of seeing someone being dragged off like that, while San still tries to appear like he’s okay. 

But this time, he truly isn’t and it makes Wooyoung terrified. He’s shivering and his legs can’t pick him up, curled up on the ground. The sight’s broken for a normal passerby.

He’s scared, screaming into his sleeves and his sobs let out uncontrollably.

  
  


_What’s happening behind closed doors? There’s more. More than just hitting him— he’s hurting more and more and more-_

  
  


_I could’ve helped. I could’ve pushed her away. I could’ve taken him and ran._

_But I didn’t._

_The one person who protected me, I failed to protect._

His heart keeps getting eaten away. It’s eroding and he’s terrified what happens when it’s fully gone. 

  
  
  
  


The single parking spot in front of Wooyoung’s home is empty, signaling that no one was home. It was the best way to return, no talking, no nothing.

It’s a drag for him to pull himself into his bedroom and fall into the bed, realizing how soft it was in comparison to the foam of the small playground. It’s suffocating alone, even though that was all he knew. But now it was different, there was someone else.

Wooyoung’s hands grasp onto his phone tightly, and he quickly unlocks it, scrolling through his contacts. It’s easy to notice the new contact name that’s in the list, and it’s easily identified as San’s number. 

_‘LovelySannie <333’ _

_Such an idiot_. Wooyoung thinks, clicking on the messages. It’s only been half an hour, and it was hard to tell if it was appropriate to message the other now. Maybe he didn’t want to talk to anyone and be alone. Maybe he didn’t want to face Wooyoung in general after all the shenanigans.

**_You_ **

_hey it’s wooyoung_

_you okay?_

_fuck you’re probably not. sorry_

_you want to talk about it?_

  
  


**_LovelySannie <333_ **

_…_

  
  
  


The three dots scare the absolute shit of Wooyoung and he looks away, squeezing his eyes shut trying to knock away the pounding of his heart. 

  
  
  
  


**_LovelySannie <333_ **

_i don’t know_

  
  
  


The vibration of Wooyoung’s phone makes him slowly open his eyes, peeking at his screen. The reply is as tame as it could be and it was honest. 

  
  
  


**_LovelySannie <333_ **

_i cant breathe . it hurts wooyoung i don’t want to be here i fucking hate it oh fuck_

_please_

_help me_

  
  
  


The desperate messages from the other send Wooyoung into a frenzy, trying to figure out what to do in such a situation. His shaking fingers press on the ‘dial’ button and he hears the ringing on his phone. Before he could click away, the other end picks up. 

Heavy sobbing, indiscernible pleads and words being spoken, it’s Wooyoung’s worst nightmare come true.

_‘San?’_

Wooyoung softly says, sitting up and leaning against the headboard. 

_‘San please breathe. Is anyone else there?’_

He hears a few coughs and sniffles.

_‘N-No. She left.’_

Those few words are pushed out of San who’s struggling to even keep himself breathing, and once those words leave his mouth, it’s back to more incoherent mumbles and screams. 

_‘Wooyoung I-I’m so sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t mean to drag you into this I knew I shouldn’t have even talked to you even though I didn’t want you to hurt yourself and you treated me so nicely you don’t deserve this mess Woo-‘_

_‘San. Tell me your address now.’_

_‘N-No Wooyoung please-‘_

_‘San.’_

The line quiets down and San shakily spits out every number and letter of his address. Wooyoung doesn’t hang up, jumping off the bed and shoving his keys inside his pocket. He dashes out the door and slams it shut as he’s done many times.

_‘Can you breathe San?’_

_‘Y-Yeah I-I think.’_

_‘In and out okay? In—— out.’_

Wooyoung finds it ironic as he coaches San to breathe while he’s sprinting down the street, out of breath to find San’s home, rounding every corner. He can hear the deep breaths the other is taking and it keeps him a bit more at ease.

_‘The door unlocked?’_ Wooyoung asks, and San says something along the lines of a “yes”. Wooyoung’s fucking exhausted, half dead, but it was too risky to leave San alone inside an empty house. He knew what it felt like and what could happen.

San’s home takes a two block run, and Wooyoung continues to keep San talking. He needed him there. Not let anything happen to him.

_‘Fuck… I haven’t ran this much since track and field day in elementary school.’_ Wooyoung jokes, slowing down and taking a breath before sprinting again.

He can hear a stuffy laugh from San and it feels amazing to hear it. Before he knew it, he was there.

_‘Blue and white house?’_

_‘Mhm. I-I can see you through my window. I-I’m on the second floor.’_

San’s hiccuping and even though it wasn’t the time to think of this, Wooyoung thinks it’s a bit cute, borderline adorable. 

Wooyoung twists the doorknob and cracks the door open, peeking inside. It’s empty like he’d expected, lights off except for a faint warm glow from above the stairs. He can hear San and for some reason, he’s so fucking relieved he feels like he can run another marathon.

He hastily kicks his shoes off, not forgetting the basic manners he has and runs up the stairs, gripping the side bars tightly so his socks wouldn’t make him fall to his untimely death. Maybe he wanted death but not _now._

When Wooyoung meets San’s eyes, his hand drops his phone onto the ground and he throws himself onto the other, arms shaking. _He’s safe._

“Fuck you’re okay. You’re alive. You’re breathing. Oh god.” Wooyoung breaths out, his hands patting down the tuft of hair on San’s neck.

“S-Sorry. You didn’t need to run here.” San apologizes, arms limp to the side of his body as Wooyoung holds him closer to his chest.

“Yes I fucking _needed_ to. Who knows what you would’ve done.”

Wooyoung’s thinking about San’s statement, absentmindedly sitting down and patting the other’s back with soothing circles. 

_Why do I care so much for some guy I met the night before?_

A few different answers popped up into his head. Maybe it was the relatability that sent him running, maybe it was how horrifying the scene after school was. 

“W-Wooyoung?” San mumbles, pushing himself off to meet his face. Wooyoung snaps out of his thoughts and sees how red the others cheeks were, shiny and covered in tears.

“Shit. Let’s go wash your face hm? Let’s go.” Wooyoung hums. It almost feels motherly in a way, holding San by his shoulders and rubbing the back of his head. It’s calming. 

San leads him to the bathroom and Wooyoung just leans against the door, watching San splash his face and stare into the mirror. “I look gross.” he groans, patting his face dry with a towel.

“No you look great dumbass. Now let’s sit and talk because you’re suffocating yourself.”

San’s stares at Wooyoung, surprised by his words but not opposed to them. He grabs onto Wooyoung’s arm and gets dragged back into the bed, feeling the blanket get wrapped around his body.

It’s endearing seeing Wooyoung focus on getting every empty spot that wasn’t covered, tugging at the blanket to cover them up and patting it a few times when he’s satisfied.

San’s wrapped in a blanket burrito and he cracks a smile at it, throwing his head back into the wall. “You’re so funny Wooyoung.”

“Yeah you could say that again. Now fucking tell me what you’re feeling right now because you’re really good at lying Choi San.” Wooyoung groans, sitting next to San and leaning against his shoulder. It’s warm.

San looks down, and Wooyoung can tell that his breathing is getting faster again. “San. It’s okay. I won’t do anything. Just listening.” he assures the other, holding San’s hand that’s poking out of the blanket. 

The boy takes a deep breath, scooting closer to Wooyoung and leaning against his chest. “Sorry. Needed some warmth.” San apologizes. 

Wooyoung makes a noise of disagreement, an arm wrapped around San’s torso to hold him upright.

He starts to talk.

  
  
  


“It’s probably obvious but that woman from before— she’s my mother.”

  
  


_Yeah._

  
  


“My parents divorced a long time ago. I don’t know… I was probably six. But a few years after that she got married to another man. And that man allowed her to get a job at a higher position. We’re well off, maybe even a little rich.” 

  
  


San laughs weakly, staring at nothing.

  
  


“That man spoke nonsense to her, that I needed to be brought up his way, no matter what it took. Of course, I’m stubborn and annoying, I kind of deserve it. When they slap me around. It’s not that bad.”

  
  


_San. That’s not bad, that's horrible._

  
  


“Yeah the bruises hurt all the time, especially my fucking ribs. Those hurt the fucking most. The physical stuff’s fine. I’m used to it. Even if it’s wrong, I can’t just leave. This is better than nothing Wooyoung.”

  
  


_No San— you have to leave._

  
  


“Even if I can take the physical pain, I’m still a little weak for the mental pain you know? Getting called useless, good for nothing, a waste of space. It’s a lot to take for my sixteen year old brain.”

  
  


“San—“

  
  


“Wooyoung. I’m okay. Just three more years ‘till I can leave for good! It’ll be fine. Just a few more years.”

  
  
  


Wooyoung doesn’t know when it started, but his tears are seeping into San’s back, his shoulders twitching at every choked out cry that gets pushed out. He knew it was hard to listen to San say it to his face like it didn’t matter, like it was normal. 

San turns around and drops the blanket wrapped around his body, his arms curling around Wooyoung. “Crybaby.” he chuckles, letting the other scream into his chest. 

“F-Fuck! I hate it San I-I… why—you don’t deserve it—!” he chokes out, hands curled into tight fists and slamming them down onto the bed. 

There’s no reply, only a troubled grin. San’s smile can cure anything and everything but it wouldn't ever save _him._ San couldn’t save himself. 

“Wooyoung. Let’s just get through it okay? Promise me we’ll get through it together?”

The question makes Wooyoung weak. It’s a heavy request that lingers on his shoulders. A hard promise to be fulfilled.

“I promise. We’ll be okay. Yeah. It’ll be okay.” 

They lean against each other on the bed, a thick atmosphere around them. Something is _still_ wrong but neither of them are talking anymore. They’re too tired to continue, dozing off.

Wooyoung forces his eyes open, looking around more closely at his surroundings. The door’s unlocked. 

“San. Should I lock the door in case someone comes back?”

San opens his eyes and peers at the door, smiling and shaking his head. “They’re gonna be overseas for a week.”

Wooyoung nods, relaxing. His body is aching from running and how naturally tense he was and still is, mentally reminding himself to loosen up. 

The room’s not decorated, a monotone colour scheme of different tones of black and white. There’s a few sketches taped to the walls, grotesque in some ways, messy and loosely drawn. They’re people but all twisted in some way that left chills in Wooyoung’s body, physically causing him to shiver. They weren’t scary but they left something inside of him.

“Is it cold?” San asks, pulling the blanket over Wooyoung, covering both of them. It’s not cold at all, a little too warm if Wooyoung was being completely honest.

“No it’s not cold. I just got chills from the drawings over there.” he replies, pointing at a particular drawing that resides on a desk in a golden frame. 

San laughs, sliding down and laying flat while the other still leans against the headboard. San looks up at Wooyoung. “It’s one of my favorites. That’s why it has the fancy frame and stuff. Not much meaning behind it. I just scribbled it out when I wasn’t feeling too good.” 

Wooyoung could imagine it. He could imagine the boy trying to figure out a way to get everything out healthily. Getting rid of all those negative emotions building up inside of him on paper, scribbling to his heart’s content.

San’s eyes are closed, calm breaths coming from him.

_He must’ve been tired_. Wooyoung thinks. 

The sight is peaceful and quiet, and Wooyoung couldn’t help but marvel at how beautiful San was, laying there. Calm. It was unbelievably nice to just not think and be there, eyes trailing over each freckle that was on San’s neck. It was like a mini constellation, filled with stars. 

To Wooyoung, San really did feel like a star. 

  
  
  
  


At some point, Wooyoung had slid down onto the bed, turning onto his side and curling up. It doesn’t take long for him to pass out, legs ready to break off at any point.

It’s a small gasp that knocks him awake, the room now even darker than before. He realizes it’s already nighttime, staring out the window, but his mind goes back to the noise he heard. San’s rolling around, teeth grinding against each other as he whimpers and cries.

“I-I’m sorry I’ll do better…” 

San’s voice cracks at the words that leave his mouth in a faint whisper. _A nightmare_. Wooyoung hates watching the sight, gently running his fingers through San’s hair. It visibly makes him more relaxed. The boy’s eyes slowly open, looking around.

“I-It’s dark.” San whispers.

Wooyoung frowns at how San’s voice is rough and shaky, coughing a bit to clear his throat. “Sorry. I- they hit me once in a while. The nightmares.” 

“San—stop apologizing okay? You’re the one hurting not me.” 

“Wooyoung. What makes you think you’re not hurting?”

  
  
  


_Oh._

  
  


San’s right. What made him think he wasn’t hurting?

  
  


Wooyoung didn’t get hit by his parents. Maybe words hit him everyday but it wasn’t anything he couldn’t take. There was no reason to feel empty all the time, to feel useless. He wasn’t hurting so much that he would take a blade to every part of his body. It feels like his mind is playing tricks on him. Maybe what he was feeling wasn’t real and that he was creating every single problem in his head one by one but in reality he was fine and lying to himself-

  
  
  
  
  
  


“Wooyoung.”

The voice snaps him out of the thoughts that are screaming inside of his head. Wooyoung’s eyes darted to meet San’s. “Huh?”

“What are you thinking right now? In your head?”

Wooyoung doesn’t know what he’s thinking. It’s a jumble of his inner voice and someone else that’s floating around accompanying him. 

  
  
  


_‘You’re not faking it.’_

_‘You’re selfish for thinking your littlest problems are even worth hurting yourself over them.”_

_“It’s okay to be honest.”_

_“No one wants to hear how idiotic your thoughts are. Nothing is real about what you feel Jung Wooyoung.”_

  
  
  


“Just because you think your problems aren’t important doesn’t mean they’re not important. You can feel like dying when you aren’t getting beat up by your parents everyday. You can feel empty when you aren’t going through anything else.” 

“If there was a reason for how you felt, do you think anyone would go and end their lives? If we could justify everything and find a reason to move forward, I think our suicide crisis would be gone by now wouldn’t it? Wooyoung-ah. You’re unhappy. It’s not fake. No matter how bad or good your life is, what you feel isn’t fake. Don’t let anyone tell you that.” 

San’s the one who spat out such long paragraphs but Wooyoung’s the one who feels out of breath. San calmly stares out the window. His words are circulating Wooyoung’s brain like a train without a destination, swirling and swirling. 

Wooyoung sits up and tilts his head back, melting against the wall. Tears are threatening to fall but he holds them back, pushing out one last question. 

  
  
  


“San. Do you think you’re hurting?”

  
  
  


A quick answer leaves the other’s lips. 

“I don’t know.”

Wooyoung should’ve expected an answer like that. He wouldn’t even consider it an answer, more like a way to dodge the question but San said it with such certainty. He genuinely didn’t know.

“Let’s go back to sleep. It’s Saturday tomorrow. It’ll be a nice rest Wooyoung. Get excited.” San tries to cheer, but it’s unconvincing, even his own voice barely reaching the volume he wants it to go. 

Wooyoung smiles at the attempt, sliding into the bed once more and sticking closer to San this time. It was starting to feel cold, but the warmth of San’s back was enough to keep him from shivering. 

“Goodnight San.”

“Mm goodnight.”

  
  
  
  
  


The next time Wooyoung wakes up, it’s bright outside. It’s refreshing compared to how little light his own room at home gets. The other’s still sound asleep, grasping onto his arm like a pillow.

Wooyoung gently pulls San off of him, climbing out of the bed and walking lightly to avoid the hard wood floors from creaking. Although it was always useless since when you wanted the floor to be quiet, it never was. 

He slowly travels down the stairs, going to the kitchen. The fridge isn’t necessarily the most stocked, some basics like eggs stacked up for easy access. Wooyoung will make his go-to breakfast: mayo egg sandwiches.

It’s nothing complicated really, boiling a few eggs and mashing them up, squeezing a good chunk of Japanese mayonnaise into the mixture and whipping it up. It may be a bit controversial, unraveling a bag of white bread and ripping the crusts off with his hands. 

Eight pieces of bread, two sandwiches for the both of them. Once they’re assembled, he cuts them into triangles, setting the plates on the dining table. 

Wooyoung’s going back upstairs, peeking into San’s room and it’s the same sight. He was not willing to eat without brushing his teeth, crouching to the ground and poking at San’s cheek. “Wake up.”

There’s a small groan, raspy and deep. “No.”

“Ugh San…”

San peeks through his barely opened eyes, seeing Wooyoung staring at him expectedly. “What do you want?” he mumbles.

Wooyoung scoffs, standing up. “You’re cranky in the morning I guess. Are there any spare uhm toothbrushes…? I made some breakfast.”

San yawns, rubbing his eyes and forcing himself to sit up. “Yeah, they’re in the cabinet above the bathroom sink.” Wooyoung laughs at the groggy boy, letting him wake himself up. He leaves to brush his teeth and it feels refreshing. He feels cleaner than ever.

The sun’s fully up now and the house had plenty of windows that let light shine inside. San patters over to the bathroom and fishes for his toothbrush, brushing his teeth while shoving Wooyoung.

“Stop it!” 

Wooyoung drags the last syllable, furrowing his eyebrows and continuing to brush without his saliva flying everywhere. _That’s good! Yes, please don’t get your spit on someone else._

San rushes to finish brushing, running down the stairs to inspect the breakfast he had been prepared. It’s not much, just a sandwich but it’s accompanied with a slightly warmed cup of soy milk. It’s a small action but San feels a bit warm.

“I didn’t know what to make but I saw the… abundance of eggs. So yeah.” Wooyoung says, walking down the stairs while wiping his mouth with the backside of his hand. 

It feels very warm.

“I— no it’s fine. Thank you. For doing this. For everything I— you didn’t have to. I’m sorry.” San apologizes. 

Wooyoung lets out a noise of confusion, sitting down in the dining table chair across from San. “Shut up. I personally think you deserve to be… pampered. Yeah?” 

San laughs at the word choice, taking a bite of the sandwich and marvelling at how it’s simple but tastes great. “Yeah? Yeah.” he says back with a full mouth.

It feels awfully nice to have the sun shining on them, quietly eating as they both yawn a couple of times. 

“Fuck. Those tasted good.” San says, satisfied. He picks up the empty glass and plates of both of them, bringing them to the sink. Wooyoung stands up, going to grab a few paper towels to wipe the table until he spots San hesitating.

His hands are lingering over his sleeves, peeking inside. He’s staring.

_Oh. I know that feeling too._

Wooyoung nudges San’s shoulder. “It’s okay. You’ve seen everything. I won’t look if you don’t want me to.” 

“Sorry. I haven’t shown anyone yet.” San sighs, relaxing his hands and leaning forward. “I-I guess I want you to see? I don’t know. It’s annoying being the only one to know they exist. Apart from you. Not used to it.”

Wooyoung hums, sitting on the counter. “No. I get it. Obviously. It’s okay. Don’t force yourself.” he assures San, adding one last thing. “Please.”

San smiles at him, taking a deep breath. _Here goes nothing_. He quickly rolls his sleeves up, turning on the tap and feeling the temperature. He pumps dish soap onto a sponge, scrubbing the plates lightly since they weren’t oily or covered in anything much. 

_Selfish._

He hates thinking. He hates his head for hurting. him like this. 

_San. Don’t you ever feel like you waste other’s energy?_

He grits his teeth.

**_Yes. All the fucking time._ **

When the last dish hits the drying rack, it’s too much. 

“I’m going to the bathroom.” San quickly says, flashing a small smile and running off. He knew what he wanted to do when he could finally be alone. It feels fucking terrible. 

San slams the door, sitting down on the edge of the bathtub. He feels lightheaded, disgusting, like an abundance of disappointment. Wooyoung probably knew what he was doing and it feels worse and worse.

It only takes a few seconds for a blade to be in between his fingers, back and forth back and forth. His hands are shaky and it’s not uncommon for him to feel like he’s going to pass out any minute. It's intoxicating feeling this way. He doesn’t want to lose it.

San doesn’t want to waste time looking for unharmed areas of his body, opting to just take it all out over his wrists again. Nothing felt the same like his wrists. The burn was different, _an amazing burn_. The blood that pools over his veins is vibrant and dripping onto the ground, clumping up. Cleaning up was the worst part.

His wrists bled so easily whenever he used those feather sharp razors on them, barely any pressure before he could create a gaping wound. It’s too tempting of a sight, too bleed out onto the ground and never wake up again. It feels like pure bliss.

The relief passes quickly before everything else sets in. Panic, guilt, regret. Oh god the regret that came afterwards. 

“San. You okay?”

Wooyoung’s voice knocks San out of the dazed feeling, making him drop the blade onto the floor with a barely audible metallic noise that sounds afterwards. 

“I’m okay. I’ll be out in a sec.” 

He grabs a handful of toilet paper, wiping the ground that’s smothered in splotches of red, some more watery, some more thick. San didn’t like the smell. It made his stomach sick and throwing up didn’t seem unfamiliar anymore. 

_Bandaids. Bandaids. Bandaids._

The words are being chanted into San’s head, one after another. His wrists don’t seem to want to stop the blood from seeping down his wrists and into his hands even after being pressed with pressure. San picks apart the bandaids and sticks them on, smoothing them out and sighing. 

_It was bound to happen._

It’s an excuse for relapsing. He could’ve just stayed with Wooyoung and talked. San could’ve distracted himself with other things, school work, drawing, _anything._ Yet, he continues to repeat his mistakes over and over. 

And… it doesn’t feel so bad. That feeling makes him afraid of what else he could do to himself. 

“San.”

“I know I know. Hold on.” 

San throws everything into the garbage can, taking a glance at the mirror. He hates the view, slowly clicking the door open and meeting Wooyoung’s eyes. 

It’s obvious that neither of them have any words for each other. They both know it’s hard to quit bad habits quickly, yet the guilt always hits with the same amount of force. 

“You’re bleeding. Was it deep?” 

San looks down and indeed, crimson pools at the tips of his fingers, dripping onto the hardwood floor. He shakes his head, curling his hand into a tight fist. “I don’t know. Was it?”

The question, a soft whisper, was directed at himself, and it was hard to recall what he had just done. It’s as if the sight had slipped his mind once it had passed. 

Bandaids never did much to stop the damage, never sticky enough to stay attached once the crimson river ran free. It would slowly overfill, and the exact sight would be seen, the unsettling smell of metal surrounding the both of them.

“I’m so stupid.”

“San…”

“No Wooyoung. I’m a fucking mess can’t you tell! I fucking hate existing I hate it so much— I don’t like feeling better because once it goes away— once it goes away—!” 

“It’s okay.”

A warm pair of arms envelope San tightly, ignoring the blood that smears all over Wooyoung’s uniform. San feels like he can suffocate in that feeling of warmth.

That’s all it takes for San to break. Loud cries emit from the boy, tears bleeding into Wooyoung’s chest, and it’s the second time that he’s seeing the sight of San sobbing.

“I can’t do this. I don’t— I can’t do this anymore. Each day feels worse than before. I don’t wanna be here anymore.”

Wooyoung doesn’t exactly know how to reply to those words. Sometimes he felt the same, but he wouldn’t want it upon someone else. 

“San. One day it’ll be better. I promise. It’ll be okay.” 

Wooyoung doesn’t allow San to pull away, hugging him tightly as if letting go of him will end up with him being gone forever.

The erratic breaths slowly cease, and the warmth of the other fills San’s body. This could keep him distracted enough, enough to stay. 

  
  
  
  


“It’ll be okay.”

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> hi :^) this is so long haha. anyone who read that I hope you enjoyed! it’ll probably take a while for me to get another chapter out but I doubt anyone will come across this anyways but if you do, i hope you’re okay. 
> 
> seriously. i hope maybe some of this story makes you feel less alone. this story is basically an accumulation of me projecting onto the characters and venting. personally, stories like these make me feel a bit better. I hope you do too. 
> 
> (P.S. comments and kudos are appreciated :D


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